Rapper Snoop Dogg has been warned he could be banned from Australia in the future after he published pictures of himself posing with what appeared to be a huge bowl of cannabis in a hotel room Down Under. The Gin and Juice hitmaker is currently in the country for a short tour, but has courted controversy by sharing images from his suite at the Palazzo Versace hotel on the Gold Coast.
In one snap posted on his Instagram page, the hip-hop star can be seen lounging on a sofa behind a table filled with fresh fruit and what appears to be a large pile of marijuana. The star, who is a prolific weed smoker, added in the caption: "A Versace breakfast!"
The image has caused concern among Australian politicians, and Immigration Minister Scott Morrison has revealed the stunt could backfire when the rapper - real name Calvin Broadus - applies for a travel visa again.
A statement from Morrison reads, "Next time Mr Broadus requests a visa to enter Australia he may regret this stunt. Visa holders convicted of serious criminal offences can be and are deported from Australia."
Gold Coast police have told reporters at Sydney's Daily Telegraph they can take no further action as the star has now left the state.
A statement from the hotel adds, "We respect the privacy of all our guests. However we have no influence or control as to the image they wish to portray of their persona via their personal social media. This was bought to our attention today but he has actually checked out. It appears to be that (marijuana) but we don't know for sure."
The image has since been removed from the star's page.
The controversy comes after feminist activists recently called for the star's Australian visa to be revoked over the alleged misogyny in his music.

Summit via Everett Collection
You can imagine that Renny Harlin, director and one quadrant of the writing team for The Legend of Hercules, began his pitch as such: We'll start with a war, because lots of these things start with wars. It feels like this was the principal maxim behind a good deal of the creative choices in this latest update of the Ancient Greek myth. There are always horse riding scenes. There are generally arena battles. There are CGI lions, when you can afford 'em. Oh, and you've got to have a romantic couple canoodling at the base of a waterfall. Weaving them all together cohesively would be a waste of time — just let the common threads take form in a remarkably shouldered Kellan Lutz and action sequences that transubstantiate abjectly to and fro slow-motion.
But pervading through Lutz's shirtless smirks and accent continuity that calls envy from Johnny Depp's Alice in Wonderland performance is the obtrusive lack of thought that went into this picture. A proverbial grab bag of "the basics" of the classic epic genre, The Legend of Hercules boasts familiarity over originality. So much so that the filmmakers didn't stop at Hercules mythology... they barely started with it, in fact. There's more Jesus Christ in the character than there is the Ancient Greek demigod, with no lack of Gladiator to keep things moreover relevant. But even more outrageous than the void of imagination in the construct of Hercules' world is its script — a piece so comically dim, thin, and idiotic that you will laugh. So we can't exactly say this is a totally joyless time at the movies.
Summit via Everett Collection
Surrounding Hercules, a character whose arc takes him from being a nice enough strong dude to a nice enough strong dude who kills people and finally owns up to his fate — "Okay, fine, yes, I guess I'm a god" — are a legion of characters whose makeup and motivations are instituted in their opening scenes and never change thereafter. His de facto stepdad, the teeth-baring King Amphitryon (Scott Adkins), despises the boy for being a living tribute to his supernatural cuckolding; his half-brother Iphicles (Liam Garrigan) is the archetypical scheming, neutered, jealous brother figure right down to the facial scar. The dialogue this family of mongoloids tosses around is stunningly brainless, ditto their character beats. Hercules can't understand how a mystical stranger knows his identity, even though he just moments ago exited a packed coliseum chanting his name. Iphicles defies villainy and menace when he threatens his betrothed Hebe (Gaia Weiss), long in love with Hercules, with the terrible fate of "accepting [him] and loving [their] children equally!" And the dad... jeez, that guy must really be proud of his teeth.
With no artistic feat successfully accomplished (or even braved, really) by this movie, we can at the very least call it inoffensive. There is nothing in The Legend of Hercules with which to take issue beyond its dismal intellect, and in a genre especially prone to regressive activity, this is a noteworthy triumph. But you might not have enough energy by the end to award The Legend of Hercules with this superlative. Either because you'll have laughed yourself into a coma at the film's idiocy, or because you'll have lost all strength trying to fend it off.
1/5
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Lions Gate via Everett Collection
When we last left our heroes, they had conquered all opponents in the 74th Annual Hunger Games, returned home to their newly refurbished living quarters in District 12, and fallen haplessly to the cannibalism of PTSD. And now we're back! Hitching our wagons once again to laconic Katniss Everdeen and her sweet-natured, just-for-the-camera boyfriend Peeta Mellark as they gear up for a second go at the Capitol's killing fields.
But hold your horses — there's a good hour and a half before we step back into the arena. However, the time spent with Katniss and Peeta before the announcement that they'll be competing again for the ceremonial Quarter Quell does not drag. In fact, it's got some of the film franchise's most interesting commentary about celebrity, reality television, and the media so far, well outweighing the merit of The Hunger Games' satire on the subject matter by having Katniss struggle with her responsibilities as Panem's idol. Does she abide by the command of status quo, delighting in the public's applause for her and keeping them complacently saturated with her smiles and curtsies? Or does Katniss hold three fingers high in opposition to the machine into which she has been thrown? It's a quarrel that the real Jennifer Lawrence would handle with a castigation of the media and a joke about sandwiches, or something... but her stakes are, admittedly, much lower. Harvey Weinstein isn't threatening to kill her secret boyfriend.
Through this chapter, Katniss also grapples with a more personal warfare: her devotion to Gale (despite her inability to commit to the idea of love) and her family, her complicated, moralistic affection for Peeta, her remorse over losing Rue, and her agonizing desire to flee the eye of the public and the Capitol. Oftentimes, Katniss' depression and guilty conscience transcends the bounds of sappy. Her soap opera scenes with a soot-covered Gale really push the limits, saved if only by the undeniable grace and charisma of star Lawrence at every step along the way of this film. So it's sappy, but never too sappy.
In fact, Catching Fire is a masterpiece of pushing limits as far as they'll extend before the point of diminishing returns. Director Francis Lawrence maintains an ambiance that lends to emotional investment but never imposes too much realism as to drip into territories of grit. All of Catching Fire lives in a dreamlike state, a stark contrast to Hunger Games' guttural, grimacing quality that robbed it of the life force Suzanne Collins pumped into her first novel.
Once we get to the thunderdome, our engines are effectively revved for the "fun part." Katniss, Peeta, and their array of allies and enemies traverse a nightmare course that seems perfectly suited for a videogame spin-off. At this point, we've spent just enough time with the secondary characters to grow a bit fond of them — deliberately obnoxious Finnick, jarringly provocative Johanna, offbeat geeks Beedee and Wiress — but not quite enough to dissolve the mystery surrounding any of them or their true intentions (which become more and more enigmatic as the film progresses). We only need adhere to Katniss and Peeta once tossed in the pit of doom that is the 75th Hunger Games arena, but finding real characters in the other tributes makes for a far more fun round of extreme manhunt.
But Catching Fire doesn't vie for anything particularly grand. It entertains and engages, having fun with and anchoring weight to its characters and circumstances, but stays within the expected confines of what a Hunger Games movie can be. It's a good one, but without shooting for succinctly interesting or surprising work with Katniss and her relationships or taking a stab at anything but the obvious in terms of sending up the militant tyrannical autocracy, it never even closes in on the possibility of being a great one.
3.5/5
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While the red carpet looks this season have wowed us and bored us, shocked us and given us enough fodder to chat for months, three celebrities have yet to really impress us with their red carpet dresses. While Girls star Lena Dunham, Les Misérables star Anne Hathaway, and Zero Dark Thirty star Jessica Chastain have raked in the wins, they've floundered on the red carpet this awards season. These struggling fashionistas need redemption, and what better way to prove their style know-how than to look bangin' on Oscar night? All they need to do is deliver one whopper of a dress at the Academy Awards ceremony or after party, and we'll forgive them for the following travesties.
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Lena Dunham at the Golden GlobesDunham is known for breaking the mold and flaunting her own style without offering apologies, and it usually works for her (hell, that's why we love her so much). But her eggplant Zac Posen gown came across almost brown on camera, looking very drab. The cut of the gown made it seem like she was wearing a size too big, and she was lost in the heavy, pleated fabric. While we don't expect to see Dunham at the Dolby Theatre (the rat-faced people of television, as Amy Poehler would say, aren't allowed at this ritzy affair), we hope she steps it up this Sunday and arrives at one of the after parties looking appropriately fly.
Anne Hathaway at the SAGsHathaway might have wowed audiences singing in Les Miserables, but her black Giambattista Valli Haute Couture gown at the SAG awards was just plain miserable. The sheer overlay was like a ballet tutu gone bad, the length was just awkward, and when a dress makes a woman as thin as Hathaway look frumpy... you know it was a bad choice.
Jessica Chastain at the Golden GlobesThis radiant redhead is one of the most flawless beauties in Hollywood right now and, thanks to Zero Dark Thirty, she is one hot item. You'd think she would anticipate her many trips to the stage and up the ante in the fashion department, but she just can't seem to get her red carpet look down. Her biggest flop was her ill-fitting Golden Globes gown. Her sky blue Calvin Klein number succeeded in making her perfect figure look droopy and when you have skin as fair as Chastain's, it's best to stear clear of such light colors.
Let's hope these lovely ladies turn it around and bring their A-game to Oscar night this Sunday.
Follow Sydney on Twitter: @SydneyBucksbaum
[Photo Credits: Steve Granitz/WireImage; Brian To/Wenn; Wenn]
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It's Hollywood week, and we're supposed to be floating on little clouds of Nicki Minaj's cotton candy hair and Mariah Carey's never-ending collection of butterfly accessories.We're supposed to be in heaven. But no. It's not that simple. American Idol has to be fresh and new, so they have to change all the rules of Hollywood week. What they don't seem to understand is they they just drew a mustache on the Mona Lisa of reality singing competition challenges.
Nigel Lythgoe waltzes out to tell a surprisingly husky group of competitors that the rules have changed this year. Rule 1: See how there are only men in this room? That's the first change. Just think of it as a middle school dance. Hollywood Week 1 is the wall where all the boys are standing, the one with the basketball scoreboard hovering above their heads. Hollywood Week 2 is the opposite wall, with all the girls twirling their hair while lingering close to the emergency exit. It's unnecessary, and it severely disrupts the usual ebb and flow of the dance of Hollywood week drama.
Rule 2: Producers choose the groups, no ifs, ands, or buts. Sure, in theory this means we'll get multitudes of groups butting heads rather than just the few that are comprised of shy guys, stragglers, and raging ego-maniacs, but in practice, it means continuous crimes against music, endless mild disagreement, and so much distraction that even some of the best singers in the competition are thrown off their game. It's a mess, and not the great kind. The worst result may be that terrible performances are rewarded with a second chance time and again this episode, perhaps as an acknowledgement that this new process was bad for everyone, but first, the judges did their best to thin out the herd in the initial sudden death speed round.
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Most important to note at this point in the competition are those folks who lost it all in a matter of seconds. First up was Karl Skinner, who we fell in love with in Oklahoma City only to let go too soon in a fit of Coca-Cola-driven fervor. Unfortunately, Karl shows himself to be all growl and no true vocals, and he's sent home along with the group of strange rapscallions (including a man who drops a paper heart with all the ceremony of Criss Angel releasing a dove while he delivers his emo audition). He's followed by the singing doctor a.k.a. Dr. Calvin Peters, who I chastised for leaving behind his job helping to heal burn victims to pursue fame when we met him back in Charlotte. Next comes cutie-patootie firefighter Dustin Watts who was always lovable, but rather generic in this mixed bag of contestants.
Next comes the challenge. Cortez Shaw shows up with too much confidence for his own good, attempting to belt out the Whitney Houston classic "I Will Always Love You." And it's not good. His off-key, cocky performance starts a debate among the judges when Mariah inexplicably likes him (girl, is your falsetto range affecting your brain?). Nicki actually says she is "disgusted" and Randy says the only thing the kid needed to hear: "You ain't Whitney." Yet somehow, this cocky little smart-ass gets another shot at the big time. Sure, he sang a much tougher song than anyone else, but he clearly knows nothing about his vocal ability and that spells elimination.
The fake-outs continue as Nicki carries out a few jokes of her own. Her first victim is Bryant Tadeo, who she gets to admit he's tired so she can tell him "It's good that your tired because you're going to have a lot of time to sleep now that we're sending you home." But it's all a cruel ruse, Bryant's just dealing with a little emotional trauma now. No big deal. At least Bryant got a lesson in being grateful and excited about Idol. Oh and also, there's the part where he gets to stay. That's not bad either.
Lastly, we watch Brian Rittenberry, whose adorable wife survived cancer and then spent the second half of his audition sweetly fawning over Keith Urban. He attempts to country-fy Brian McKnight's "Back at One," and while he's still got strength and sweetness, it's clear the rough quality of his voice is serving to camouflage the lack of vocal ability. The lovable lug is sent home, and it's not pleasant to watch his dreams crash, the show is about singing and it was the right thing to do to let him go. It's a skill our judges only seem to have half of the time as auditions continue.
Almost as suddenly as it rehearsals began (because there was no time devoted to the cruel, yet fascinating process of self-selecting groups), the performances were underway, undercutting the vicious footage we've come to expect. It's probably better for our souls this way, but we were okay with the consequences of verbal sparring and bullys bested by their more talented teammates. Luckily, not everything has changed. We still get the requisite bathroom rehearsal. Unnecessary beat-boxing (unless you're Justin Timberlake or Blake Lewis, beat-boxers need not apply, but oh boy do they ever). We're also treated to an ego-crushing wake-up reel of the contestants before they've prettied themselves. Well, everyone except for Johnny Keyser, who apparently rolls out of bed with perfectly feathered hair and a cavalier attitude. And while even I'm jealous of his charmed life, full of eyes so sparkly they blind the sun and hair so naturally perfect it should be in a museum, his wake-up routine isn't exactly the highlight of Hollywood week. Then again, I'm not really sure what was.
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First group of the night is Mathheads, comprised of Matenee Treco, Matheus Fernandes, Gabe Brown, and Nick Bodington. After milking Matheus's tale of shortness for all it's worth (even having the kid lay on his bed so he could put his hopes out into the ether, "God, please help me. I've been waiting so long for this," even though he just had a fairly sizable shot on Ryan Murphy's The Glee Project. Matenee's got a case of the crazy eyes, Gabe has an issue or two with really singing out when he's not using his gutteral growl, Matheus rocks out like it's still 1984 and Van Halen is the pinnacle of musical fame, and Nick is simply so overshadowed by his cohorts that I couldn't remember a distinguishing factor about him if I tried. "Somebody to Love" by Queen earns them all another shot at the top 24, but I'm still wary of Matheus and his seemingly out of control ego.
Johnny Keyser, his pretty face, and his group take on a song that he didn't actually know, because he doesn't listen to human music, just the sounds of a million angels singing directly into his ear. "Reach Out (I'll Be There)" may be a classic Four Tops song that most fans of aural joy have heard at least once in their lives, provides a problem for Johnny in that it is a total blind spot. It means a complete jumble of misguided voices for Johnny's group.Johnny forgets his lyrics, but manages to keep on humming. Kareen Clark has the words down, but he's flatter than a piece of plywood. The harmonies are awful. Despite the fact that Aussie Keith can't believe that he knows a song that all-American kid Johnny doesn't, Johnny is sent on through while the other move on. Of course they keep the hot guy. This is Hollywood after all. What's Tinseltown without a few attractive people to keep us interested? (A town full of talented people who were judged fairly? Who wants that.)
And the disappoint keeps on keeping on. Curtis Finch and his unbelievable gospel/R&amp;B voice have made him one of the voices to beat in the competition, but as it turns out, he's kind of a jerk. When his assigned teammate, scrawny little pop-punk-loving Charlie, gets sick, Curtis sees it as an opportunity to do better for himself, with the kid out of the way. Their third teammate does everything he can to help Charlie, even admitting it to the camera while Curtis stood aside expressionless, totally aware that taking credit for helping Charlie would be unwise after the truth had been caught on camera. When the trio performs, however, you'd never know there was an issue among them, but Curtis's capable runs are tinged with the knowledge that he would have let that poor kid hang out to dry if he needed to. Apparently, he didn't get the memo about everything he says being taped and presented to America so that they might one day choose to vote (or more likely not vote) for the guy who was too ambitious to help a guy in need. Naturally, the judges don't know about his backstage antics and they're wowed, sending all three through while Mariah inflated Curtis' ego by telling him she's been waiting all day to hear him sing. With a victory on his hands, Curtis is all team spirit suddenly, but I can't imagine that would be the case if the song had put him in danger. If only she wasn't right about his talent. Selfish or not, the guy can destroy any song he touches.
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Two more relatively boring groups squeak on by, giving speech-impediment sufferer Micah Johnson and his teammates Vincent Powell, Marvin Calderon, and David Willis a ticket to the next round. Also raking in the luck was sign language teacher Nate Tao's group of leather-jacket-lovers, who all went easily to the next round, even Cortez, despite his tendency to hop into off-key territory during "Some Kind of Wonderful." If Cortez keeps getting through, we're going to have the male equivalent of Karen Rodriguez on our hands again.
While we wade through two groups who can't even muster up a fraction of the lyrics to either "What Makes You Beautiful" (only the most infection pop song courtesy of the biggest boy band on the planet, One Direction) or any number of other well-known songs during this, a singing competition presumably filled with folks so set on singing they might want to listen to artists other than themselves. Two groups of lyric-losers come through and only Paul Jolley and Will White survive.
B-Side or the group formerly known as Three Men and a Baby (get it, because that one kid is 15 and the rest of the dudes are strapping men!), try a little Maroon 5 and Keith comes to his fellow reality judge Adam Levine's defense: "Adam Levin isn't dead yet, but he's alredy rolling over in his grave." Morbid, Urban. Gupreet Singh Sarin, Nicki's favorite "Turbanator" from New York, leads the group, many of whom forget the lyrics completely while Sarin at least fills his empty lyrical space with some scatting. The sounds are simply cacophonic and even though Gupreet does his best to salvage his flub, he's not much stronger than he was during auditions when Nicki had to beg her fellow judges to give him a shot. Yet somehow, the judges deliberate and come out with the idea that these guys, who blew their group audition, deserve another chance. Even Gupreet looks confused as Nicki exclaims her joy over her "baby group" living to see another day of competition. She says she pushes them through because "we are humans and we forget the lyrics, but it's about what you do in those moments that makes you a star," and we hear you, Nicki, but these guys don't seem to be the ones to use that card up on. Hopefully, I'm wrong and they heed Randy's command to simply "be better next time." Some act of God spared this undeserving group, but hopefully it will lead to somewhat of a small miracle when it comes time for solo Hollywood auditions tomorrow.
Suddenly, some glaring choice (that occurred in the last paragraph and surprised all of us) makes the judges realize they have to get tough and soon. Luckily, they are served up a nice hot plate of terrible singing to get them in the cutting mood. Last Minute, a group that included Jason Jones, Dan Wood, Jessie Lawrence, and some guy the producers didn't see a need to call by name forget their words and quite possibly how to sing, forcing Randy to burst, "How do I even judge this?" He doesn't really have to, and send the whole lot home.
Carrying on with the snooze train is a group organized by Ryan Conner Smith, who gets the singers to perform a cappella. The judges hate the lack of musical accompaniment, and Ryan's innovation (and lack of vocal prowess) is what sends him home while the rest of his group stays. Perhaps he should have heeded his vocal coach (and Katharine McPhee's mom) when she cast a disapproving look at the mention of an a cappella audition.
Burnell Taylor from Baton Rouge is known as the guy who made Mariah cry during auditions, but during Hollywood week, his group's "Some Kind of Wonderful" almost made her cry for another reason. Burnell doesn't know the words, and his vocals are suffering. Yet memories of his past performances apparently keep him alive, during the round that is supposed to be judged at face value and he and his teammate Tony Foster Jr. are safe while their cohorts pack up.
Finally, as the end of the episode approaches, the drama begins to emerge. Super 55, socially-challenged stutterer Lazaro Arbos' group is having issues. And if you ask Josh Stevens, it's because they're all spending too much time trying to fix Lazaro because he's "not from around here" and his stutter makes it hard to communicate. While Lazaro is concerned that his teammates take his speech issue as a symptom of deficient mental ability, Josh is the one showing off just how stupid he can be. Who's the one Nicki loves so much, she made a heart with her hands in his general direction during the sudden death round? Oh, Lazaro. That's right. Pipe down, Joshie. While Josh worries some more, Ryan Seacrest's voice-over hopes the group doesn't become a statistic (which is impossible because they're by default already a statistic. This isn't an STD prevention PSA. "Becoming a statistic" doesn't mean bad things happen to you.) And the only people in danger of statistichood turned out to be Josh and his buddy in bullying, Scott Fleenor, who plays the flat singer to Josh's boring 1950s sock-hop attendee. Lazaro and his teammate Christian Lopez (With the dreamy blue eyes and sultry, seductive singing voice) are the only ones worth watching, and when the voting is done, the judges only leave the talented ones standing. Scott simply sulks, but Josh takes this golden opportunity to right the wrongs he's committed since group rehearsals started to be a total ass. "If anything, you should be going on. We spent so much time perfecting what you needed to be doing," was all he could say through his tears to Lazaro before he parted ways with the talented young lad.
But Idol had more than one group tailor-made for total implosion. Country Queen pitted two eccentric young men against two strapping young country singers, one of whom has a serious issue with men who don't chop down trees or stomp around in muddy boots. JDA and Joel Wayman drive Army man Trevor Blakney nutty with their focus on showmanship, but his real problem seems to be the various ways in which both men are less attached to traditional expressions of gender. While they're completely willing to listen to his needs as a member of the group, Trevor is convinced his teammates are ignoring him and he flatout refuses to participate in the lyrical workshop that he whined so desperately for, complaining that he didn't want to "put on dresses and put glitter on." And his intolerance of people unlike himself (something producers were counting on) costs him his pride and his spot in the competition. He forgets his lyrics, while his glitter-wearing teammate JDA focuses on vocals and wins the judges approval. Everyone in the group, including so-so country singer Lee Pritchard make it through while Trevor heads home to pout about never having lost anything before. Well, my dear boy, the thing about winning is that it doesn't happen when you sit on your rear end complaining for an entire round of a cutthroat competition.
And just when it seems the judges' vow to be tougher isn't quite as strong as they made it sound, Cystic Fibrosis afflicted 15-year-old Kayden Stephenson comes to the stage with his group, which includes a mature and much more polished David Leathers Jr. (he was eliminated at the top 24 cut off last season), is up with "For the Longest Time." Idol placed all four members of DSDK together because, oh aren't they cute, they're all the youngest in the competition. Each of the youngsters delivers at the very least descent solos until it comes time for Kayden's turn. A quick shot of Mariah while Kayden flounders with his sweet, child's voice on stage makes the diva look like she's just seen something horrific. This sweet little survivor is crashing and burning before her eyes and she can't handle the thought of what the judges are going to have to tell him. Luckily, he's not sent home alone, alone Sanni M'Mairura and David make it through, but it's still heartbreaking to watch little Kayden trudge on home. While his story was awe-inspiring, it was clear during his first audition that his voice wasn't strong enough for the competition, yet the show couldn't resist sending him through and pumping him for failure. He should never have made it to the televised round of auditions; it was clear he wasn't strong enough. Yet in the end, Nicki has to convince Mariah (and any backstory-clinging viewers) that sending him home was the right thing to do. Yes, it was hard watching the panel send home a cancer survivor with an amputated leg after he wasn't good enough for the competition, but it's less difficult than watching him step even closer to his dream before it's taken away. Rip the bandaid off early, or we're left feeling horrible for a young kid who was advanced unfairly because his story looked great as an episode endcap.
Finally, the night ends in tears when Frankie Ford, who won us over with his story about singing for change on the subway in New York, lets the pressures of a contentious group mar his ability to use his God-given voice. Placed in a group with powerhouse Charles Allen, unstoppable personality Papa Peachez, and constant surprise Adam Sanders, Frankie is faced with a smorgasbord of musical variety. He could, as the least experienced member of the group, use it to learn. But instead, he spends the whole rehearsal period complaining that they don't listen to him, driving him to tears just minutes before it's time to perform. Oz, as they decide to call themselves, serves up a performance that's the vocal equivalent of the junk drawer. Nothing fits together, however great the value in each individual piece. Peachez is weak, clearly shaken up by the group dynamic. Adam does okay, but ultimately rescues his performance with a suggestive joke. And Charles is the only solid performer, pulling out a few high notes and impressive runs. Frankie, however, cries on stage, forgets his lyrics, and eventually gives up mid-phrase. Even if his story is admirable and moves us and his voice is a good one, this is not the behavior or attitude of someone who can win Idol. He's cut loose while Peachez earns another chance thanks to Nicki's incessant begging, but that's not the last we hear of the supposedly sweet singer from New York. He bursts out of auditions, barreling away from his friends and yelling about how he'll come back and win, but it's his line "They will not deny me" that is of concern. Frankie, you're a good singer, but no one, not even American Idol owes you a win or an instant ticket to fame. He can come back again, but unless he fixes that attitude, it's going to be the same story all over again.
With all that surprisingly lackluster nonsense out of the way, Thursday will deliver the solo Hollywood round, also known as the place contestants start to have their big moments (you know, those performances that seem to make the sky open up just so angels can come down and flutter around the singer on the stage?). There will be a bit of drama here and there, but what we're looking for isn't a fight or a hissy fit. We're looking for some kind of wonderful.
Of course, it will be strange to go through this process once more with the ladies next week. Hopefully, they don't leave us with such ardent fits of boredom as the menfolk.
Follow Kelsea on Twitter @KelseaStahler
[Photo Credit: Fox]
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Get ready for some glitter.
Ke$ha, along with Usher, No Doubt, and Justin Bieber, will perform at the 40th annual American Music Awards on Sunday, Nov. 18. They will take the stage with previously announced acts Pink, Taylor Swift, Nicki Minaj, Christina Aguilera, Carrie Underwood, Pitbull and Linkin Park. More artists will be announced in the upcoming weeks.
This year's fan-voted event will make history with the introduction of the new category for Electronic Dance Music (popularly referred to as EDM). Nominees include DJ's/producers such as grammy-winning Skrillex, David Guetta, and Calvin Harris.
The AMA's will air live on ABC from L.A.’s Nokia Theatre at 8 p.m. ET/PT on Nov. 18. If you want to see the star-studded event in person, you can still buy tickets via Ticketmaster.
Follow Sydney on Twitter @SydneyBucksbaum
[Photo Credit: Dominic Chan/WENN]
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Coming as a surprise to absolutely no one, People magazine spoke to Chris Klein and confirmed that the actor will return to the franchise that gave him a (middling) career in Universal Pictures American Reunion. The fourth film in the series will surely contain boatloads of the crude sex comedy that made all of the original films $100 million hits and will hopefully bring its characters some closure, as I'm sure Sean William Scott is tired of being referred to exclusively as Stifler.
Jon Hurwitz and Hayden Schlossberg (Harold and Kumar Go To White Castle) will write and direct the film, which should begin shooting in late May for a January 7th, 2012 release (that date inspired a whole lot of confidence). Most of the core cast, including Alyson Hannigan, Jason Biggs, Tara Reid and Scott will return. Nostalgia is the only thing this film has going for it, so Universal better pray that my high school classmates plan a get-together to go see it because I don't know who else will.
Source: People

The first Santa Clause had a somewhat clever premise on how an ordinary guy can become Santa Claus just by putting on the red suit while the second Clause was about finding a Mrs. Claus. What’s the third clause? The Escape Clause which allows anyone who is Santa the option to give it all up and become a mortal man again. Of course Scott Calvin (Tim Allen) aka the current Santa has no intentions of leaving the job. But his lovely wife Carol (Elizabeth Mitchell) is expecting their first child and missing home a great deal so Scott has to juggle having his in-laws (Alan Arkin and Ann-Margaret) come to the North Pole--which he has to disguise as Canada to keep the “Secret of Santa” alive--with getting ready for Christmas. It’s kind of hectic. And throwing a huge wrench in the whole deal is the envious Jack Frost (Martin Short). Relegated as the “opening act” to Christmas Frost wants his own gig and sabotages Scott at every turn in order to steal the job away from him. There’s no nipping at your nose with this guy; it’s all-out war. Allen makes no apologies for his career. Why should he? He’s been moderately successful playing everyday dads in Disney comedies displaying the right mix of milquetoast-iness and humor. Plus as Scott/Santa he also gets to be sentimental. I just wonder if he still wouldn’t like to do something more cutting edge? Short on the other hand never could find the right kind of starring vehicle for himself but instead has created some hilarious supporting characters (if you don’t believe me rent The Big Picture). Jack Frost is another one to add to the list. The comedian has way too much fun playing the nasty ice man with steely blue eyes a smart--if frosty--three-piece suit and who gets to say lines like “I invented ‘Chill!’” Mitchell (TV’s Lost) reprises her role as the sweet-as-pie Mrs. Claus and has some nice moments with Scott. And what a surprise to see Alan Arkin and Ann-Margaret in this! They are perfect as the meddling in-laws especially Arkin who finds everything wrong with Scott and his “toy factory.” Buena Vista didn’t feel it was necessary to pre-screen Santa Clause 3 for critics. They probably believe the audiences for this franchise is already built in and they don’t need jaded critics slamming the film for being silly and meaningless. Smart. But as much as it pains me to say it Santa Clause 3 directed by Michael Lembeck (who did Santa Clause 2) really isn’t that awful. Yes it’s all terribly predictable with the schmaltz so thick you could cut it with a knife. But there’s also something surprisingly endearing about these movies. They have always provided a sort of warm family-friendly feel without too much forced circumstances—and most importantly they are legitimate Christmas movies--even its being released just as we are putting away the Halloween decorations. Honestly I’d take a Santa Clause 3 over a Christmas with the Kranks (sorry Tim Allen) any day.